


Vilomah

by lokischocolatefountain, saiansha



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Child Loss, Comfort, Death, Established Relationship, F/M, Future Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Hurt, Hurt Loki (Marvel), Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Immortality, Loki (Marvel) Feels, Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Loki is a Good Dad, Loss, Married Couple, Mortality, Multi, Old Age, Original Character Death(s), Other, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Unhappy Ending, dad Loki
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-24 18:47:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22162678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokischocolatefountain/pseuds/lokischocolatefountain, https://archiveofourown.org/users/saiansha/pseuds/saiansha
Summary: Vilomah, Sanskrit (n): Against the natural order.A child should never precede its parent in death. But Loki of Asgard was a god. He knew that a day would come when that natural order would be subverted. He knew that one day, he would have to watch his son die.
Relationships: Loki & Loki's Children (Marvel), Loki (Marvel) & Original Male Character(s), Loki (Marvel)/Original Female Character(s), Loki (Marvel)/Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 57





	Vilomah

**Author's Note:**

> So one fine day in October, [didyoulikequestion10moony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/didyoulikequestion10moony) was trying to get me off the angst train (tl;dr: how long would Loki mourn for Scandal, the character from my other ongoing series Scandalised, when she died?). No, I didn't get off the angst train. Instead, I wondered: what would it be like if Loki had to watch his mortal child die? And thus this idea was born. We decided to do a collab and voilá. 
> 
> Needless to say, this is a heavy subject and we implore you to read the tags before reading. We hope you like the fic. - S

The day of his son’s birth was both the best and the worst day of Loki’s life.

It was the best because he met his son. 

“Oh, hello,” he had said awkwardly, his mouth drying up and tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. 

He was always twelve steps ahead of everyone and didn’t expect to lose that skill so soon, much less to the creature that lay helplessly in his arms, trusting him as nobody, not even his wife, had before. It - no, _he_ \- looked at him and Loki sent him a tired and painfully awkward smile. What was anyone supposed to do in such a situation? There were no books on it! Even if they did exist, it would be impossible to summon one as his son would cry murder with the slightest movement of his body. 

“I am your father,” he introduced himself. “Well, we have met before and I am assuming you already knew who I was. But, you were quite preoccupied with being born and it didn’t look comfortable for you or your mother. As you might recall, you were crying quite loudly. You gave us all quite the fright, coming out wailing like that. Well, everyone except your mother.” 

Loki had been terrified. No amount of reading could have prepared him for what was to occur. His wife toiled for two days, not giving up despite the unceasing agony coursing through her every minute, every second of the way. As she screamed and wept, several emotions coursed through him: guilt, for he was the reason she was in this situation; helplessness, for no matter how hard he wished, he could not bear her pain for her; anxiety, for not being able to understand or help her with the birth; anger, for he doubted whether the healers were doing their task well; and admiration, for how strong and brave she was, and how beautiful she looked even now. 

But above all of them stood one other emotion: fear. He feared he was going to lose their child. He feared he was going to lose his wife. But what he feared the most was that he was going to lose them both.

So after exerting enough effort to make sure both wife and child were safe, he fell by her bedside and wept in helpless joy and relief, before joining her in slumber. As soon as he had woken up, he had reached for that tiny bundle that was a living, breathing extension of him.

And as he stared at his son now, and his son - tiny and so heartbreakingly delicate and trusting - stared back at him with transfixed eyes, Loki was filled with boundless, unflinching, unconditional love. He loved his child the way he had loved no one and he knew that he would do anything to protect him. It was exhilarating to be filled with such love for someone, to be able to experience something so beautiful and positive in all its purity and innocence. 

Yes, it was undoubtedly the best day of Loki’s life - but also his worst.

Because since the moment his son’s eyes fluttered open, his face flushed red as he sucked in the oxygen himself for the very first time, and his mouth opened in a lusty cry declaring his arrival, Loki knew an awful truth: he would have to watch his son die.

He knew that his wife would die soon. She was mortal and he had accepted that reality, if not made peace with it. They had hoped that their child would take more from Loki than from his mother. They had been a little hard to find, but there were certainly records of the issues of mortal and ‘immortal’ trysts. The observations were clear: the longer the pregnancy, the higher the child would partake of the biology of its Asgardian or Vana or Alfar or Jotunn parent, and thus, the longer it would live. They had hoped that her pregnancy would carry for over a year. Their hopes had died a slow death as her belly continued to swell according to the timeline of human gestation periods. The final sign of his son’s mortality had come with the manner of his birth.

Both Jotunn and Aesir babies were known to come out silently with their eyes open. It was different with humans; crying was a sign that all was well with the child - a _human_ child.

“Your mother and I knew that it was normal for a human offspring to come out crying,” Loki went on speaking to the infant in his arms. “The healers were expecting it, but they were still caught unawares. They would not have been had they done their research as rigourously as me and spent months preparing for it.”

He had readied himself for every possibility and every outcome, but just as no preparation was enough to steady the nerves of the royal healers, no preparation was enough to help him adjust to this awful reality. Once labour had begun, there was too much to do to fret about the fact that the child was going to be born only a little after nine months. But now, as his heart swelled with the boundless, unflinching and unconditional love for his child, the dawning realisation of his son’s mortality caused his eyes to swell with tears of anguish and despondence. His son was only a few hours old, but time had already started ticking away. 

It was against the natural order. It was wrong. It was not supposed to be. He should be fretting about what to name his son right now, not about how soon his child was going to _die_. 

He impatiently swallowed the lump in his throat and went on. “You would think the healers would put in more effort for all the gold I give them. I suggested that they be removed from their posts, but I was informed that your mother -”

He stopped mid sentence when he heard a muffled giggle. He turned around sharply to find his wife, still lying in the bed, but awake.

“My love!” He exclaimed before remembering he had to keep his voice low. He looked around for the crib and carefully placed the baby there before turning back to his wife. She indicated she wanted to sit up, so he gingerly helped her. She felt strangely light before he remembered that she was pregnant no more. “Since when have you been awake?”

“Since you formally introduced yourself to our son,” she remarked with a tired smile. Her face was drawn and her voice was hoarse after all the screaming, but otherwise, she looked fine.

As if in acknowledgement of that statement, their son broke his silence and started wailing. 

“Has he been -” she began, already unlacing her shift to bare her breast.

“Yes, just a short while ago,” he replied and reached out towards the crib.

She tied her shift back again. “He wants to be held.”

Loki carefully picked his son out of the crib and sure enough, he stopped crying. With an intense look of concentration, he settled down on the bed. Gently, he placed the child on her lap and angled himself a little behind her so that he could look over her shoulder and shield them both with his arms. He let them have their moment in silence. He watched with fascination as the child reached up to touch her face. She touched him the same way he had: starting with the fingers, down to the palms, then the arms and the legs. 

“Loki…” she whispered at last. “It’s our son.”

“I know,” he said softly.

She turned to look at him, her eyes shining with joyful wonder and love. “Thank you,” she said.

He gulped. “Thank _you_.”

She turned back to the child and touched him. He regarded them with both love and despair. She was oblivious to it all in her joy. He envied her.

“I was expecting you to shake hands with him, but you went for the classic ‘Luke, I am your father’ instead,” she said, adopting a comically deep voice for the last few words.

That snapped him out of his anguish. “Luke? Is that what you would like our son to be called?” 

He wasn’t sure he liked it much. He was thinking of a traditional Asgardian name, but that might be asking too much of her since she had already willingly left behind her home planet and culture. Giving him a Midgardian name wouldn’t be too bad, but he doubted that Luke was the suitable one. It sounded too much like his own name. Luke Lokason sounded like one of those alliterative names from that absurd ‘magic’ book from Midgard, and he knew it would entail ridicule both on Midgard and beyond. 

“No, I don’t want to name him Luke!” She laughed. “It’s so basic. That was just a Star Wars reference.” 

Oh yes, the 'franchise' whose movies he had showed Thor and had spun tales about it being a documentary. It was quite amusing to see his brother make a fool out of himself in front of the Midgardian diplomats last year. The poor sod had hoped to impress them with what he thought was extensive knowledge of history.

“Then what do you want to name him?” 

She was silent for so long that he wondered whether she’d fallen asleep. He saw that she was merely in thought. He was loathe to rush her, but he did silently beg her to say something - anything - soon. For the first time in his life, he found quietness and silence to be oppressing, for he knew that if he did not talk or debate or discuss or banter soon, he was going to end up crying on her shoulder.

“You know your favourite poet on Asgard?” she said at last. “The one who had written about the deaths of Ask and Embla?”

“Yes,” he replied. “Bragi.”

“Bragi,” she repeated. “I want to name him Bragi. I want him to have a mind as beautiful and a speech as pleasing as yours. I want him to be celebrated for his thoughts and words. I want him to be like you.”

That was what finally broke him. Like water through a broken dam, his tears came gushing out of his eyes. His body shook with sorrow that had come - and sorrow that was yet to come.

“Loki? Loki!” she exclaimed, alarmed. The babe in her arms shifted in discomfort from the noise and the movement. “Loki, please!” she said, running both her arms over his face and shoulders and chest. “What’s wrong?”

“He could never be like me. He will never be like me,” he said between sobs, his eyes peering into her soul in hopes of finding some comfort, some reassuring lie. “He came after nine months and he cried when he was born. He will never be like me!” he cried out. “The Bragi of your mythology was wed to Idunn, the goddess who bestowed the gods with the apples of immortality. But I have no immortality, no Idunn, no apples to offer my son. None.”

“Oh, Loki, no, please, please,” she said, distressed. Their son started crying in earnest once more, stressing her even further. “I am so sorry, my love. I did not mean to - I didn’t know! We could - we should -” She clutched him tightly and brought her forehead up to his.

“I can’t watch our son die. I can’t. I can’t do this,” he wept.

She rocked him in her arms like she would rock their child. “Shh, my love, shh… shh” she consoled him till he finally stopped crying.

"I have always had my doubts about being a good father, what with having Odin as an inspiration," he said bitterly. "But Odin, for all his faults, protected me. And here I am, unable to even protect my son."

They had discussed the impact that Odin's parenting had had on him innumerable times before, but to her credit, she never lost her patience no matter how many more times he brought it up. "You might not know what to do, but you have seen Odin and you know what _not_ to do - and that is just as important. Oh, Loki," she ruffled his hair and made him look at her. "We cannot protect our children from everything forever. But what we can do is protect them so that they can live their life on their terms."

"I can't do this. I can't."

“You _can_ do this. You know why? Because you are going to watch our son live. You are going to watch him become a person and you are going to help him become that person. He has just begun his journey, Loki. He needs you and he will always need you. He will always need his father. And right now, he needs a name.”

As she painted a picture of what their son could be and what he would need, he started envisioning what he would teach him. He would teach him that speech mattered as much as actions. He would teach him that thoughts and contemplations were as valuable as deeds of heroism. He would teach him that sometimes, quills solved more than swords. And above all, he would teach him to find pride and satisfaction with who he was, the kind of pride and satisfaction that he himself had not been able to find.

No, he could not offer him an Idunn or apples of immortality, but he could immortalise his son through his words.

“Bragi. His name is Bragi,” he declared, feeling that surge of love start gushing through him once more.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are more than welcome and make S keep from having a breakdown every other week. Thank you for reading!


End file.
